Indiana Jones and Horus' Spear
by Nathaneal Jacobs
Summary: Chapter Five, friends. Just to forshadow envents to come. There's my excuse of you find five boring...
1. Foreign

**Disclaimer: **If I owned Indiana Jones, I would not be wasting creative talents on a non-profit web-site. My talents cannot begin to match those of George Lucas, Steven Speilberge and the rest of the cast and crew that put so much har5d work into the Indiana Jones trilogy.

**Rating:** PG-13 (you know me, always on the safe side)

**A/N: **This may be one chapter for quite some time. Just wanted the idea out there. I'm starting school again soon, so that will slow my already slow updates.

I was thirty, let's just start like that. I used to live in Cairo and work for a Librarian and Museum Curator until I raised enough money to move to the states and go to a university. I was going to take Archaeology; my former employer had told me that I barely needed take the class, because I already knew so much. I insisted, just to get the diploma, and he helped me raise the funds for it. He was like a father to me, and the sorrow of leaving him behind was over-powered only by the excitement of starting school. I was really looking forward to being in this class. That is, until the first day I stepped through that door.

I was early, but the class was still surprisingly packed. Everyone was at least 10 years younger than I was. All of the girls gave me a glare or two as I sat in the middle row of the stadium-like arrangement of seats. I sat as far to the side as I could. Close to the door, as well, just in case I needed to run for it.

I…overheard a few girls talking about the professor. And, my lord, the things they said. They were saying such…graphic things I was almost sick. _He's most likely in his late fifties,_ I thought, _and they speak like they want to…_ I shuddered at the thought. I always imagined a college professor as a small old man with glasses that were too big, a bald spot that consumed a head of otherwise white hair and a suit that looked like it needed a good press. My, was I mistaken.

The bell rang to start class and, as if on cue, a man walked in. I knew he was the professor, but he was nothing like I had imagined. He was tall, probably slightly older than I am, he wore a light brown suit, reading glasses, and his hair was full and brown. Though his hair did look like it needed to be combed like, last full moon. I think I might've laughed quietly at the thought.

"Okay, quiet down everyone," he said, putting his briefcase on his desk, "The bell rang, if you want to talk all day, your welcome to leave now." He looked as if he hadn't gotten the right amount of sleep in a while. I noticed bags under his eyes when he looked up at me. "New student?" he asked.

I nodded and smiled weakly when a few heads turned and stared at me. "Yes, I am new," I said. I apparently had an accent, because I got a few snickers and some one said 'foreign' as the class got to snickering.

He nodded and scanned the class. "Alright," he said, "Don't laugh because she's new, or I'll personally fill out your applications back to elementary school."

One girl raised her hand. "Dr. Jones," she addressed him, "She doesn't have her books yet. I'll lend her mine if you like."

Dr. Jones…that sounded familiar for some reason. Anyway, he sighed and nodded. "At least I still have some mature students," he said, "Now, on with today's lecture…"

The lecture was long, but it went by quickly. I found myself able to answer most of his questions, which he allowed me to do, without the aid of the books. I also realized that the girl only 'lent' me her books to get Dr. Jones' attention. She was one of those students that was only there to gawk at him. I knew a lot of what he was talking about, but I found a single flaw in his lecture when he went into a talk about the lost Arc of the Covenant. The bell rang before I knew it, though, so I didn't get to bring it up in class. I decided I'd go to his office.

"Alright, that's it for today, then," he said, "I want chapter three one my desk by Wednesday, and I'll be in my office for a few minutes if you have questions." He grabbed his suitcase, and seemed relieved as he walked out, following the crowd of students.

I fell behind and left as soon as the class was empty. I guess you could say I was daydreaming. That doesn't usually happen to me, but my first day at school left me with thoughts about one person in particular.

_Space in time...dun dun duh!_

I found it quite impossible to get into Dr. Jones' office, due to a crowd of students—mostly girls, I noticed. I asked his secretary and she whispered something to me that other students didn't hear.

"He slipped through the window again," she said, "don't tell anyone, or they'll be after him in ten seconds flat. I only tell you, because you look like you've actually got something to say to him."

I thanked her and fought my way to the exit. After I finally reached the door and was outside of it, I stopped and panted. _This is what he goes through every day?_ I thought. He must really dislike his job. I laughed as I thought of him crawling through a window. Then I remembered my need to speak with him and I ran outside.

I caught him in the parking lot; he had adorned an old-looking fedora and ditched his glasses. "Dr. Jones!" I called, I was beginning to suspect him of something, but I wasn't about to make wild accusations.

He turned and looked as if was about to tell me to go away, but when he saw it was the new student, he shrugged as if to say "what harm could it do?" I must've been caught smiling.

"Yes, it's me, the new student," I said, "My name is Alexandria Markus. But please call me Al. I wanted to talk to you about your lecture today. I caught an error that I thought I'd bring to your attention."

"This is new," he said, "Usually the only thing female student comes up to me for is some stupid reason. Sometimes they can't even think of a good excuse." He seemed to be talking to himself partly. "Where are you from? I recognize that accent."

"I used to live in Cairo," I said, "But that doesn't matter much, now does it? And I'm not one of those silly girls in your class who constantly gossip about some of the most…never mind." I caught myself shuddering at the recollection of the conversation I'd overheard. "To the point," I began again, "about the Arc of the Covenant, you claimed that it had never been uncovered. It came to my knowledge that a group of Nazis found the Arc, but it was stolen from them."

"You got your news the wrong way round," he said, "An American archaeologist found the Well of Souls with the help of an Egyptian digger by the name of Sallah. The group of Nazis you speak of were lead by a French archaeologist by the name of Belloq. The Nazis stole the arc and left the American in the chamber to die."

This is quite an interesting story I was uncovering. I noticed there was one name he didn't give me. "Did the American escape?" I blurted out. I couldn't deny I was interested.

"Yeah," he said, "Somehow, he escaped and followed the Nazis. He got the arc back, but only for a short time. The Nazis stole it back and captured him. The entire group of Nazis and the Frenchman opened the arch before taking it back to Berlin, to the Furor. Every single man of that group died. But the American survived and took the Arc to the states where they secretly locked it up in and unmarked box in a warehouse never to be seen again."

I was stunned. How could he know this? Was he ever telling the truth? "If it was a secret, then how do you know?" I said, very skeptical of his story.

"Because I was that American archaeologist," he said, fixing his hat, though it didn't need it.

"Aha!" I shouted, then I quieted myself, "You _are_ Indiana Jones! I knew it! In fact, I should've known it from the fedora. Did you really survive a Thugee cult and find the Holy Grail? The latter of which was conveniently lost, was it not?"

"Look, believe what you like," he said, "Start a God damned fan club if you know so much about me. I could care less. How old are you anyway?"

"How old are you?" I shot back, "I have no interest in starting a fan club. I've just always wondered if the publicity wasn't a little…exaggerated."

"I'm thirty-four," he said with a sigh, "Now if you excuse me—"

"What?" I said, "I'm thirty. You're a college professor at thirty-four?"

"You're just starting college at thirty?"

I couldn't say anything against that. I shrugged it off and watched as he turned to walk away. "Hey," I said suddenly, "Wait! Could you tell me your stories?" I found myself unwilling to let him just walk away like that. After all, he was my teacher. Wasn't it his job to tell me things?

"I could," he said without turning back to face me, "but I'd rather just get home to a nice bottle of whiskey."

"Then would you mind if I tagged along?" I asked following him to his car. He said nothing in either ascent or protest as I buckled myself into the passenger side.


	2. Old Scars

I found the whiskey all right when we arrived at his place. I couldn't help admire how welcoming his home was. He had little nics and nacs that seemed to be salvages from archaeological digs he'd probably been a part of. He told me to wait in the living room as he took care of something. I sat on the couch and looked around. A picture on the side-table next to me caught my eye. I picked it up and examined it. It was a dark photograph of an older man and a child. I assumed they were father and son, but they both looked as if neither wanted anything to do with each other. Then again, there was that look that showed they were family. A hand pulled the picture away and replaced on the table. I looked up and saw Dr. Jones was standing there.

"Whiskey?" I offered, holding up the bottle. I was glad to see him smile and not be angry with me for snooping in his things. But I wanted to know who was in the picture.

He placed two glasses on the coffee table and sat in an armchair across from me. "That picture is my father and I," he said knowing I would ask, "Were weren't the closest family you'd find. In fact, we hadn't spoken to each other for about twenty years until recently."

"Your little adventure with the Cup of Christ?" I suggested, pouring a generous amount in each glass. I saw a slightly surprised look on his face. "I know a lot about your adventures, Dr. Jones. Most of your company I know by name."

"Then why are you here?" he challenged.

I paused in thought. "I want to know what really happened," I said, "not just the bloated stories of a journalist who wasn't even there." There was more to it than that, but I'd tell him the truth later.

"Well, I already told about my little adventure with the Arc," he said, "You want to hear about the Thugee cult?" He paused, and rubbed his head. "To make a long story short, I've been to Hell and back, literally."

"No that's not what I mean," I said, "I want to hear you account of what happened. And the true story behind the Holy Grail. Please, I've always wanted to know." I forced the most pleading look I could. I was never very good at manipulation, but hell, it was worth a try.

"Really?" he said, "so you're one of those people who can't sit with the story their handed."

"I'm sick of reading the Nazis' account of everything," I grumbled, "They're quite powerful in the Middle East, you know."

He nodded and took a drink of whiskey. "Fine," he said, "I'll give you stories, since that's what you want. Some of it's hard to believe…Hell, I'm surprised I've lived this long." With that he went on with his reenactments of his experiences as an archaeologist.

_Space in time...dun dun duh!_

"…The Grail was gone, Elsa was gone, my father finally respected me," Indiana concluded, "That was my last 'great adventure' for an all-powerful artifact. As fun as it was, I don't plan on another in this decade."

I couldn't help but laugh. "But it seems so exciting," I argued, "You got to see so much, experience so much. Who could ask for more?"

"You've obviously never drank the blood of the Kali," he mused.

"That story _was_ a little farfetched," I said, "He pulled the heart out of a living man? You were whipped with your own bullwhip? I admit that I don't believe it entirely. Magic rocks? Fortune and glory?"

"What, are you saying you need proof?" he asked, leaning forward in his chair slightly.

"Well, yeah," I said, "if you want me to believe you. What kind of proof would you give me? You have one of the lost Sankara stones?"

"No," he said. He stood and took off his shirt. He turned around and I almost screamed at what I saw. On his back were many welts and lash marks from a leather whip. I stood, reached out, and touched a long gnarled scar almost as if to make sure I was seeing what I was seeing.

"Okay," I whispered, "I believe you." I sat down, filled my glass again and downed my third glass of whiskey. I'm not usually much of a drinker, but there are occasions.

He pulled his shirt back on. "Adventure's not as great as it sounds in the books," he said, sitting back down. He took the bottle from me to prevent me from drinking too much. "I think it's time you headed home," he said suddenly.

"Oh, that's what I forgot," I said, "about going home…I was wondering if you…Look, I can't afford a dorm. I can't afford anything, let alone my books. I was planning on asking my teacher if he could help me with that. I wasn't planning on my teacher being Indiana Jones. Do you think you could help me pay for a hotel or a cheap apartment near the university?"

He was still for a moment, apparently taking this information in. "You what?" he began, "Wait…You barely have enough money for college and you didn't plan to have a home? How the hell did you have enough money for a ticket from _Cairo_?"

"Look, I worked for a museum curator…a librarian," I said, "He was like the father I never had. So when I told him I wanted to go to college in the states, he bought me a ticket and helped me raise money for funds. I was able to pay for the class. Look, I just need a place to go to at night. I'd rather not sleep on the streets."

"I don't know of any apartment complexes near enough to the university where you could walk to it," he said with a sigh, "I don't plan to drive ten miles out of the way to give you a ride. I don't know what to tell you…"

I went into a slight panic. "Then…then do you have an extra room here?" I asked, "I'll pay you rent. I'll get a part time job, or something, to pay you. Hell, I'll sing on the street corner and hold out a hat for money. Please something…anything!"

He rubbed his temples. "I don't have an extra room," he said, "in case you didn't notice, this is a small house." He thought for a long moment, silent other than his tapping foot. "Look, I guess you can…sleep on the couch or something, if your that desperate. I'm not going to ask you for rent, but you need to get a job to buy your books."

I smiled wildly and jumped up happily. "You are a nice man," I said. I walked over to him and hugged him tightly around the neck. "I'll help you around the house, or something. Anything I could possibly do to pay you back."

"Just don't quit school," he said, standing and pushing me away from him, "If you quit school or get kicked out for any reason, I'll kick you out of my house."

"I promise, I would never dream of quitting school," I said, still relieved that I didn't have to beg on the streets. I danced around little. I got slightly dizzy from the whiskey and fell to my knees with a small yelp. "You are a nice man," I repeated when he offered a hand to help me up.


	3. Bullies and Intruders

That night I did, in fact, sleep on his couch. From that day on, I'd lived in his house, gone with him to school, and basically everywhere else I needed to go. I ended up singing on the street corner with a guitar I found in his storage closet. Though, as soon as I got enough money, I bought my books. A lot of rumors spread throughout our class, then most of the university, being that I got a ride from the professor every day. To add to that, I was getting the best grades of the class. Many people accused me of cheating or something close to it. It was relieving as time neared the end of the school year. I passed my exams very easily and graduated his class. The last day before vacation was one to remember, unfortunately.

I was sitting under my favorite tree outside of the university, waiting for Dr. Jones to finish up. I tossed a ball up and caught it. I keep repeating the movement out of boredom. I tossed the ball again, but it didn't come down, so I looked up.

"Excuse me, Ms. Markus," it was that snotty little girl that 'shared' her books with me the first day, "I just have a question, before I never have to see you again. Are you happy about cheating your way through your first year of college?"

"Cheating?" I repeated as if I didn't hear her correctly.

"Yes, cheating," she said, "I heard you live with the professor. I bet he did all your work for you." She had a look on her face that showed pure hate.

"Look," I said impatiently, "It's not my fault I live with Dr. Jones. Hell, I sleep on the couch. Every assignment he has given me I've done completely on my own. The closest thing to help he's given me was letting me borrow a book, before I bought mine."

"Yeah, sure," she said, "You just happen to get perfect scores on everything and Dr. Jones does nothing to help you." I have never liked high-pitched sarcasm.

"Yes," I said, "Now will you please give me my ball back. The damn thing cost me five dollars." I stood up and reached for my ball.

She pulled the ball out of my reach. "I doubt you sleep on the couch," she said accusingly, "I bet you sleep with him."

"Oh, is that what your problem is?" I asked, "Lord…how old are you?"

"Nineteen," she said quietly.

"Oh my goodness," I muttered, shaking my head, "He's a bit old for you, Hun. Now, please give me my ball back." I didn't reach for it, I just held out my hand.

"You didn't deny it," she said. She held up my ball in front of my face. "You want it, go get it, bitch." She threw it a full ten feet away.

I sighed and turned to go get it. I wasn't in the mood to fight with her. I wasn't the type to start fights anyway. "I didn't sleep him," I said tiredly.

As soon as I passed her, she yanked my head back by my long ponytail and I slammed against the tree. I fell down, clutching my head, with my back against the trunk. I looked up at her, but she made no other move to harm me.

"Please leave me alone," I said, "I have nothing good to say about this country yet, and you're just making it worse." I stood again, one hand to the back of my throbbing head.

She looked confused at first. "Why don't you fight back?" she asked, her tone was still insulting.

I went to retrieve my ball. "I don't think that violence ever solves much," I said, "and I don't pick fights with kids especially."

She made some noise that said she was insulted. "Clark!" she called, I guess it was her boyfriend, "Come over here for a second."

I turned around just in time to see a large boy run up to her. I didn't want to stick around for tea and cookies. I doubted that was what this was about. I ran for the university, stuffing my ball in my pocket.

_Space in time…dun dun duh!_

I never understood the glares I got on my first day. Maybe it was that I never wore a skirt, always pants. Maybe it was that I looked darker than everyone else did. Maybe it was the fact that I was new by itself. I never knew. I did know that the glares became more frequent, and for that, I knew why. Every girl in that class that had thoughts in their head about some relationship with the teacher was jealous that I got to live with him. I realized that after that little encounter. I realized that actually after I woke up in the school's dumpster.

My head hurt badly, and I realized soon after waking that my lip was bleeding. "Son of a bitch," I muttered, remembering that guy…Clark, was his name? _If I ever see that bastard again, he's in for it._ So much for non-violence. This made another thought pass through my head. Did Dr. Jones leave already? How long had I been out?  
I tried to get out of the dumpster too quickly. The thing almost fell over, so I fell back in. "Damn," I muttered under my breath. How did a kid do this to me? I slowly pushed myself up and out of the trash can. "Now, to find my teacher," I said to myself.

I made my way to the parking lot, still holding my head. The sky was quite a bit darker than when I last remembered it. I saw his car was still in its place as before. I gave a sigh of relief and went to go into the school building.

"Al?" I heard from a distance. Some one was looking for me, and I guessed it was the professor. "Alexandria!"

"Jones!" I called and ran in the direction of his voice. "Dr. Jones?"

Soon I saw him come around a corner behind me. He was again wearing his fedora, having forsaken his reading glasses. He heaved a relieved sigh when he saw me. "I've been looking all over for you," he said, "Are you okay?"

"So much concern?" I asked, "Were you really that worried about me?"

He shrugged and shook his head. "You're bleeding," he observed, "Where were you?"

"If you had been looking everywhere, and it had included the trash cans, you'd have found me," I replied, wiping the blood off my mouth, "Hey can I call you Indiana, now that school's out?"

"Do what you want," he said, "I'm not your dad. Come on, let's go home."

_Space in time…dun dun duh!_

I had gotten quite comfortable with sleeping on the couch. Indiana had put a blanket out for me, and a pillow. I always slept on top of the blanket, though. And I always sleep with my knees pulled up to my chest an my arms wrapped around them. I was always happy to come home and know that I had a bed there. It just made me feel wanted. The only other place I had been wanted was in the attic of the library back in Cairo. Anyway, I still had my bed there before I took a shower. Indy and I came to an instant agreement that the smell of a dumpster was not one that would stay in the house.

I took a freezing cold shower in the small bathroom of the house. Damn the lack of a water heater. Well, it was better than nothing. One more annoyance I found when I got out. I reached for my face cream. What? It's not there! I got dressed angrily and went to the living room still drying my hair.

"Indiana, where the hell's my face cream," I said as I walked down the hall. I was silenced when I got to the living room. There was more than one man in the room. One man had a snake, one man a knife, both were threatening Indy. "Oh, shit," I muttered as all three looked up at me.


	4. Horus' Spear

"It's in the medicine cabinet," Indy said shakily. I don't think he once took his eyes off the snake that was oh-so-near to him.

"I never put any of my things in there," I muttered. I noticed that the side table was over-turned and the picture was on the floor, it's frame broken. I wondered why I hadn't heard it fall.

"Does it really matter that much?" he asked.

"Well, yes," I said, "If I had my face cream then I wouldn't be interrupting this little appointment." I looked up and glanced at both men. The one who held the snake—an Egyptian Asp, I noticed—was dark-skinned, I knew that he was, at the very least, Arabic. The other man was white and blond.

"Excuse me," said the blond man, he had a German accent, "I hope you don't mind my interruption, but Miss Markus, please sit down."

I narrowed my eyes, but didn't comply quickly. He was very familiar, but I couldn't remember exactly where I might have seen him. "Why?" I asked. I tried not to be startled by the fact that he knew who I was.

"Well, Dr. Jones has been polite enough to join us," he said, "we were hoping you would to." As he said this, he pressed his knife against Indy's throat.

I sat in the armchair. Indy's arms were bound behind his back, I could tell that much. I was beginning to think that having the snake there was enough to scare him defenseless anyway. "Alright," I said. "Would you mind telling me why you are here?"

"Ah, very to the point, I see," Blondie—for lack of a better name—said, "well, I'm here concerning an artifact that most people I have asked said I should consult you about."

"Me?" I repeated. "Why me? I'm really just a student."

"Yes, I know," he said, "You passed your class with nearly perfect scores. I'm talking about research you have been doing on the side."

"Horus," I muttered, "is that what this is about? The spear?" I had been researching in secret. My topic was something that I had been told was my mother's passion.

"Ah, I knew I came to the right place," he said, "Now will you get any notes you have, any information about? I'll take it as soon as possible."

I wanted so badly to sock that little smirk off his face. "I don't know how you're used to doing business," I said, "but I'm not going to get you anything near a cup of tea when you intrude in here and threaten my friend."

His smirk didn't so much as falter when I said this. "Did you know that Egyptian Asps are the most deadly snakes in Egypt?" he asked, I knew it was a threat.

"Yes," I said standing, "I understand, then. I'll go get my folder." I walked to Indy's room without a hesitation. There was a phone on his desk. I thought of calling the police, but I didn't know how long it would take them to get there. Instead, I searched his drawers for anything useful. I found a pistol. "Why does he keep weapons in his writing desk?" I shrugged off the thought and silently opened the window that led to the back of the house.

Once outside, my plan was formulated. I tried to avoid any windows as I made my way around the house. I stopped at the front door for a second, to gather bravery—or maybe sanity. This was going to be violent. I hesitated again only when I saw a car parked across the street. I knocked on the door loudly, hoping Blondie would send the other man to answer. A few minutes passed, nothing but shuffling inside.

Then the door creaked open. There stood the Arabic man. I raised the gun and fired before I really aimed. I had never fired a gun before, but I saw blood spill from his mouth and the bullet had imbedded itself in his neck. As he fell, I took the snake from his hands. I grabbed the base of its neck so it wouldn't bite me and entered the house.

I stepped in the door and the blond man saw me. He made a move to stab Indy, but I threw the snake at him. It bit into his arm and he let go of the knife. He screamed and fell back into the coffee table with a loud crash.

"Indy," I said grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him up, "We have to get out of here." I didn't doubt I was scared. "I saw a car I've never seen before outside. I'm probably being paranoid, but seriously..." I grabbed the fallen knife and cut the rope from his wrists.

"Do you know what those guys were looking for?" he asked, quickly walking to his room.

"I know that they were going to try and find Horus' spear," I said following him. "Do you know what that is?"

"Some ancient myth about Isis and Osiris," Indy said, "Horus was their son, am I right?" He got out a suitcase and put a brown leather jacket in it. Then he went to his desk.

I nodded. "Set was Osiris' brother," I explained. "Set wanted Osiris' position as Pharaoh of Egypt. He killed Osiris by tricking him into a coffin. Isis—Osiris' sister and wife—mourned so greatly over Osiris' death that she went in search of his casket. Before, though, she hid their son with another goddess. She found the chest where Osiris' body was and hid it in the marshes of the Nile until she could give him a proper burial so that he could pass into the afterlife." I paused when he took his gun from me. I had forgotten I still had it.

"Set found the body and chopped it up into fourteen pieces," Indy continued. "Yes, I know that part. That sent Isis out searching again. She found thirteen of the pieces and made thirteen different memorials in different places so he could never be found."

"Yes, that is right," I said, "When Osiris passed on, though, he visited Horus to teach him. When the time came for Horus to avenge his father's murder, a war was waged on Set. Horus' army against Set's. The last battle, Set took the form of a giant, red hippopotamus, and waited for Horus in the water. Horus, on the other hand, took the form of a twelve-foot-tall young man. He wielded before him a harpoon that was said to be thirty feet long, and the tip itself was said to four feet. When Set opened his mouth to consume Horus and his boat, Horus stabbed the spear into Set's head, and pierced the brain. Set was slain. It is said that because the spearhead was both wielded by a god and had slain a god, it had great power. It was supposedly placed in one of the thirteen memorials of Osiris."

As soon as I finished my story, Indy shut his suitcase. "You've really done your homework," he said, "That I didn't know."

"It's my area of expertise," I said smirking, "Anyway, where will we go?"

As if on cue I heard the front door open. Damn it, I left it unlocked. "We'll consult a friend of mine for tickets to Egypt," he said, "Obviously the Nazis are looking for this thing. That blond guy was one of them. You're looking for it too, the makings of disaster."

"Cairo, then," I said, "we should go to the library and find my old employer. He knows quite a bit about this himself."

"Good thought," he said, "You bringing anything?"

"No," I said, "I don't really have anything to bring anyway."


	5. Airplanes and Spiders

If there is any mortal thing in this cruel world that I hate more than spiders, it's flying. Airplanes are my second worst enemy—beside spiders, mark you. And, so, for the entire flight to Cairo airport, I was clutching the armrests of the seats. Indiana was sitting next to me, calmly reading a magazine, might I add. About an hour into the flight he noticed my…condition. I think he forced back a snicker, but I could've been mistaken.

"Not used to flying, sweetheart?" he asked in the most babying tone. I almost found it insulting.

"Since when am I your…sweetheart?" I retorted, but the plane shook slightly and made me jump. "Is it that obvious?"

"You're knuckles are turning white," he said, pointing to my hands that still held the armrests with a death-grip. Now that I though about it, my hands were starting to hurt at this point. "Here, just ease up your grip. Relax." He gently pulled my hands from their former attachment.

"How can I relax?" I muttered, my hands searching for a new occupation. I grabbed his magazine and starting rolling it tightly. "Forgive me if I like to keep my feet on the ground. Just think, if any little thing goes wrong, it could mean the end of every person on this plane. I don't know about you, but I'm not prepared to die, just yet. I just started college."

"You're not gonna die, Al," he cooed, obviously trying to be comforting, "Just stand up and walk around for a bit. It works sometimes."

"Sometimes?" I repeated, "That's really reassuring." My hands were shaking when he wrenched his magazine from my grip. He had to help me get my seatbelt unfastened. I think it's a plan to scare me because as soon as I stood up we hit turbulence or something. Fell forward onto Indy, hoping to God my life wasn't ending. I really hate airplanes.

"Calm down, Al," he said. Now I had my arms around his neck. _He _was in my merciless, fear-induced death-grip. "Stand up and take a few steps. If you can't manage that than you're a lost cause."

"I would think you—of all people—would believe in miracles," I said sarcastically. I slowly released him and stood. No more turbulence; it had ended as soon as it began, I supposed. I took three steps and then rushed back to my seat, buckling my seatbelt. "There's your 'few steps.'"

He smiled and shook his head, as if to say I was hopeless. "It's a long trip to go," he warned, "Why don't you try to get some sleep?"

That was easy for _him _to say. I tried to relax, to think of good things. The past year of college before people started bothering me with these like "have I slept with the professor." Such matters, I never did bring to his attention. Had I tried, I would've been blushing profusely. That was the last thing I needed at the time. I thought of a king cobra gracefully making it's way through my mind's eye. I always found comfort in snakes, especially ones with such a prominent attitude. They were quite beautiful creatures. I think it was about then that I slipped off to sleep.

_My Dream…_

It was cold, damp and the only sound besides my own breathing was the constant dripping of water at regular intervals. I moved, heard the rattle of chains, and knew that—wherever I was—I wasn't there for tea and cookies. That sounded so good right then. Something about my situation told me I hadn't eaten in a while. I looked around and saw a very rotten, stone cell. The walls were moss-covered; the chains that bound my wrists and ankles to the wall were covered with rust to the point where it surprised me they were still able to hold anything there. My head seemed to be spinning, and the room spun with it. Then everything started to melt away.

With the sudden shine of the desert sun and the smell of sand and water, I knew I was now near the Nile. This was utterly confusing. Then there was music and I concluded that I had officially lost my mind for what I saw next. I single-file line of hippopotami in ballet shoes and pink tutus came dancing by in a choreographed, flowing stream of spins and dips. It was all very cute. That is, until the line was interrupted by a matching, dancing, giant _spider_!

"Holy sweet mother of God," I muttered under my breath. This would've been an amusing sight, were it not for my fear of spiders. I turned tail and ran, only to find that I was running in circles. The music pounding in my ears. The dancers not letting me escape. I felt spider legs poke into my back. I screamed and kicked out at the spider to get it away.

_Not dreaming anymore…_

I think that the images faded slowly when I felt human hands grip my wrists. Then my name being called. Things turned black and I could only hear. "Al," came a voice, "Al?" A sigh came then. "Alexandria Jewel Markus." My eyes shot open then and I saw Indy standing over me, holding my wrists.

I glared up at him for using my full name. "Henry Jones_ Jr._" I said, emphasis on the Jr.

"Now, you've gone a bit too far," he said, "You had a nightmare or something. You were thrashing in your sleep." I noticed he was still holding onto my wrists.

I smirked. "I like the contact," I teased, "but I need the use of my hands to sock you." I didn't mean it, but hell, it was funny to see the look it put on his face.

It was confusion mixed with some deep thoughts of anger. Kind of like saying "oh really?" except meaner than that. Anyway, he let go of me and muttered something about the plane having landed already.

"Good," I said, getting, "Landing and take off are my worst moments. Jones, on the way back, let's take a boat?"

"My thoughts exactly," he said, "The last thing I need it you strangling me in your grip. I swear, it's like you're holding onto life itself."

_Space in time…dun dun duh!_

Just the thought of spiders makes me nauseous. I can't stand to be in the same room as a spider. Hell, I can't stand to be in the same building as a brown recluse. I wonder if this will affect my future life, if I have one. There actually aren't as many spiders in Egypt—which is half the reason I lived there. I was relived when I saw the welcoming front of the Museum/Library that I used to live/work in as the taxi approached. When the car stopped in front of it, however, I got an unpleasant surprise.

"Closed?" I nearly shouted, "Why is it closed down?"

The taxi driver was in a hurry to answer me. "The owner, the curator, he died," the man said in Arabic, "He was murdered. Most likely work of the Nazis. Fare, please." He held out his hand expectantly.

Indy tossed him a little extra than what they were charged and the driver drove off. I didn't much notice this because the news was still sinking in. Dead? My father that wasn't my father…he was dead?


End file.
